In the Still of the Day
by J. Travis
Summary: Spike and Illyria have an unexpected chat that's not unwelcome. Rated PG13 for one or two foul words.


I own nothing, Joss Whedon, FOX, ME, UPN, those people own anything and all having to do with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and its' trademarks. I do, however, own my obsession with video games. For those keeping up with _When She Was Wrong_, there is more to come shortly. I've been out of town for several weeks now, but I'm finally home and able to get some work together for posting. Thanks for reading, and reviews are appreciated. (=   
  
You will take her, won't you?  
  
The vampire eyed the silent creature, I suppose.  
  
You'll explain why?  
  
Yes, but why me?  
  
I think you're suited to one another, and... Well, she seems to at least find you entertaining.  
  
So I've been told, mate, every single time that bint uses my head for a football.  
  
Spike, just explain it to her, please? Wesley's words were choked and bitter.  
  
Spike sighed and nodded toward Illyria, You realize she's probably just going straight back to...the apartment, he refrained from saying her name because it was a reminder of who should be alive and who was actually alive.  
  
I won't be there to welcome her.   
  
Wesley turned to speak to the blankly staring woman, Good-bye, Illyria, Spike will see to you.  
  
Tilting her head to the left she replied, I thought my actions would please you. Humans are so...simplistic in their desires. Even when given their dreams, they balk and squeal like piglets led to slaughter. Your kind is--  
  
Heard that tune before, Princess. Wes, go while you can. I'll buy the chit a nice fern to converse with, Spike opened the door, and Wesley nodded his gratitude.  
  
You continue to mock me, half-breed, and to interrupt when I speak, Illyria's words were toneless and flat. The vampire missed Fred's lilting accent and charming rush of words.  
  
S'what I do, Spike walked into the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge, want one?  
  
I do not drink your poisons.  
  
Too bad. A lady once said to me that liquor makes dull people more interesting. At least, I think those were Anya's words, and we wouldn't want you to suffer by becoming something interesting to talk to.   
  
So, you've gone an' pissed off the researcher, and now it's old Spike's turn to demon-sit.  
  
The self proclaimed goddess questioned, Again, insolence. Or is it a challenge?   
  
Just stay out of the way. Got a new game at Hastings last night, and I want to play in peace. Peace means you shut up.  
  
Game? What is the point of your games? My kind played games....games of the hunt and strategy for training. The land smoked with fires built on flesh while rivers and seas gleamed with blood in those days.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes, Must'a been some party, love, he flopped onto the small love-seat and grabbed the nearest X-box controller.   
  
Illyria picked up the game box and read aloud, _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. What is this? It appears to have no purpose, she went on to claim watching the screen.  
  
It's for fun. Fun? You understand fun?  
  
Yes, it is fun to hold your head to the floor with my foot, but it is not fun to watch your kind stumble blindly through lives they neither deserve nor earn. It is also fun to rip the hearts out of--  
  
I get the picture, he interrupted her again, now, shut your gob!  
  
It's a game for human children, Illyria sounded determined to further the argument.  
  
Which is why the graphics are so good, Spike responded, surprising himself that he'd admit even that bit of information to this blue blooded, well, blue bitch.  
  
Illyria sat upon the couch next to Spike, Let me play.  
  
  
  
Give me the little black device with buttons, she commanded, I want it.  
  
Let me see... No, Spike told her, bugger off.  
  
You will not refuse me. You will give me the..., she looked momentarily thoughtful, controller now.  
  
I bloody well will not.  
  
She quickly slapped her companion, and he sprawled to the floor dropping the controller; Illyria snatched it, and Spiked watched her rapidly discover how to use it properly. This game tells a story. Not all games prepare your kind for war?  
  
Resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be playing anytime soon, Spike decided to talk to the demon, That's right, pet, people are varied here. Some like games that tell stories while others just want to smash and kill or pretend they're driving for Nascar.  
  
This body's father liked Nascar.  
  
Fred's father, he corrected, she still has a name even if you've stolen the rest of her.  
  
I do not wish to discuss Winifred Burkle. What other games does your kind like? Chess? Fred did, for someone who didn't want to discuss Fred, she referenced her memories frequently enough the vamp noted.  
  
Chess and other games of strategy, yes, there are as many tastes for games as there are people walking about this fuckin' planet.  
  
You curse too much, Illyria reprimanded, Fred disliked such low language.  
  
Spike eyed her again curiously, You talk about Fred too much.  
  
Her lovers dislike my words as well, but I have no memory of you being lover to Fred. She did care about you, her lack of emotion gave the words no more meaning than the wind, but they still cut into Spike, Her greatest hope was to bring you back at one time, why? You never helped her. She did not truly know you.  
  
Spike refused to look at Illyria, and she stopped playing the game, she again demanded.  
  
Some people... people like Fred... they're just too good for this world, the vampire wouldn't allow this creature to drag a single tear from him, I've known very few people, no matter how old I am, that I could ever say that about. Spike's voice had become soft, an educated cadence replacing his normal bravado, All, save one, are dead, gone long before your unwelcome return.  
  
You will tell me of these people.  
  
No, I won't, the harsh edge returned to his voice, you're not gettin' another soddin' thing from me.  
  
Spike watched Illyria struggle with the next few words, Please, explain these people to me, she appeared earnest in her desire to know.  
  
He found he wanted to tell her, tell someone, and perhaps give the past a chance to rest for a time, There was my mum. She was the first, but I suppose every child says that about his mother. Still, she would sit and listen to whatever bit of nonsense I'd written and proclaim it wonderful to the world, but she really believed it was wonderful. It wasn't just a mother humoring her child's prattle.  
  
So your mother was an idiot? Illyria quizzed.  
  
NO! Course not, never said that, exasperation and a note of anger filled the room, She was just a kind and loving mother! What in bleedin' hell is the matter with you? She was decent to everyone. It would take me over a century to meet another soul as good as hers, and that one would belong to another dying woman... Spike's eyes misted a bit as he turned away from his new roommate, Joyce Summers should'a never taken me into her house, given me kindness, she did it knowing what I was, and she cared about me... Blew that all to hell, I did.  
  
Silence settled over the room, and even it would appear Illyria understood it would be impolite to push. Spike knew it was too much to hope for because she pushed anyway as the morning hours sped quickly into afternoon, The others? You said one of these people lives still. I would wish to meet such a person.  
  
Startled from his memories Spike went on, I never thought I'd meet another pure soul after Joyce, but I did. One from Joyce's own family and the other... Well, the other was loved by everyone she knew because you couldn't help but like the little girl, he sighed, She wasn't a child, mind you, but she put me in mind of all those innocent little ones I'd known growing up. Tara personified compassion, love, kindness, and gentleness, and she was murdered by a bastard with a gun. Spike's words dripped in acidic venom, I understood why Red killed Warren... It might'a been wrong, but it was hers to do even if the others didn't dare accept it.  
  
Revenge, I understand. I wanted vengeance on all of you for killing my kind, Illyria's words were soft and quiet for once, I find I miss my people.  
  
I miss mine too, Blue, Spike added.  
  
What of the other? The one who lives?  
  
Joyce's youngest daughter and The Slayer's sister, he knew she'd expected him to say Buffy because it was Buffy he spoke of most often around Wolfram & Hart when he thought no one listened, Dawn is all the colors and sunlight a person could ever hope to find. He smiled thinking of her.  
  
You love this one?  
  
I love them all, the strange pair sat and stared at the muted daylight patterned against the wall.  
  
The demoness, always providing the unexpected, took Spike's hand in a very Fred-like gesture, I do not like the stillness of the days these weekends bring, but I am sorry for your loss.  
  
I'm sorry for yours too, it seemed an understanding had been reached.   
  
Spike pulled a second X-box controller from under the couch and a two-player racing game, Wanna go a round?  
  
For once, Illyria seemed to break into a genuine smile that wasn't a pale imitation of Fred's lovely grin, Yes, that would be most acceptable.  
  
The End


End file.
